


find my love (then find me)

by destiny919



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, takes place during season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destiny919/pseuds/destiny919
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lydia, are you okay?” he asks, softer and more slowly. </p><p>“I’m fine,” she responds, brittle and false. “I just need to say something to you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	find my love (then find me)

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote the majority of this a full year ago (seriously, it would be exactly 1 year less than two weeks from now) like mid-way through season 4. Obviously it's canon divergence now, but whatever.

 

When Lydia walks in, Stiles is tugging on his sneakers and his backpack is by the door. “Hey!” he says, surprised to see her.

“Oh,” she says faintly. “You’re going out. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I’m just going to study with Malia. I’ve got a few minutes. What’s up?” He gives her one of those analytical looks, which she hasn’t been on the receiving end of in a long while. But she isn’t hiding anything anymore. Not with what’s at stake. “Lydia, are you okay?” he asks, softer and more slowly.

“I’m fine,” she responds, brittle and false. “I just need to say something to you.”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow at her. “I’m all ears.”

Green doe eyes bore into his. Is it a trick of the light or are they shiny with – tears? “I have a twenty million dollar bounty on my head, Stiles,” Lydia begins quietly.

“Hey, hey, we’re gonna take care of that, alright, we’re going to -”

“We’re going to _what_?” Lydia snaps back at him, her voice gaining more strength. “More assassins are coming every day, the list is getting shorter and shorter. Pretty soon we’ll be the only ones left on it. If we’re lucky. I’m second from the top. Scott is worth more, but he’s an alpha werewolf. He can defend himself and he has, plenty of times by now.” She wraps her arms around her body, hugging herself tightly. Stiles suddenly wishes achingly that he could do that for her again, like he had the other night, before he’d been able to stop himself. Hold her and comfort her. But it isn’t his place. Lydia doesn’t love him and he has Malia now.

“I can’t fight,” she continues, almost matter of fact. “All I do is find dead bodies, and I’m not even good at that.”

“Lyds, that’s not –!”

“Not what? Not true? You know it is, don’t try to pretend.” She chokes out a desperate little laugh. “All I’ve gotten are the deadpool keys. Our dead friends – my dead _best friend_ – and Derek, who hasn’t even died yet, he’s just becoming human or whatever it is. But thanks to Braeden he’s still more capable of defending himself than me.”

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his ears now, Lydia’s words and behavior are terrifying him. “What are you getting at, Lydia? What’s going on?”

“I’m going to die,” she says, soft and almost wistful.  Resigned, like she has accepted it. Well he hasn’t and he won’t. Even if –

“Is this a banshee thing?” he demands urgently. “Can you feel it?”

Lydia shrugs. “Even if I didn’t, what difference does it make?”

“ _Lydia_.” He says her name then like it’s like a gasp of air, cracking glass, like it’s being ripped out of his chest.

“It’s just obvious logic,” she continues. “I’m the weakest one with the highest price. It’s only a matter of time. Especially since you all are busy so often and can’t always be around to protect me.”

Stiles feels like his own ribs are crushing his insides. She’s right. They _haven’t_ been there protect her, she’s been alone all the time. Not even nearby, Lydia’s been spending so many days and nights out at the lake house. He isn’t even totally clear on what she does out there, how she suddenly came upon the first deadpool key there. He was told that she’d cracked it, that there was a list of names and corresponding numbers, that everyone he cares about except his father is written down for death. Nobody told him how her house triggered it. Stiles knows it must have been that house, or maybe even the full moon that night – who the hell knows if it affects banshees in addition to were-creatures – but he doesn’t know what about it. Nobody told him. Lydia hadn’t told him, and he hadn’t found it within himself to ask. Or go with her and discover it, _not leave her all alone_ –

She could have been taken out so easily, he realizes. It’s a miracle she’s still here before him, and he stares at her now, frantic and greedy. Glossy green eyes, soft flowered dress, all pale skin he wants to kiss and long strawberry blonde curls to run his fingers through.

Swallowing hard, he tries to tell her, “Things won’t be that way anymore, we’ll be there, we won’t – I won’t let anything happen to you, Lydia.”

The smiling – _smiling!_ – girl only shakes her head at him. “It’s okay, Stiles. None of you need me.” Her eyes rove around his room, taking it in. “I’m just here telling you this because I remember what you told me once.” He’s pinned under her gaze once again. “ _Death doesn’t happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you. Everyone left standing at your funeral, wondering how they’re going to live the rest of their lives without you in it_.” Stiles feels like his throat is closing up. He remembers what else he said, he knows she does too, but she doesn’t quote it like the rest. _If you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind_. He already had, almost, but he knows, he _remembers_ now, after months of distraction, that he’d really go over the edge if he lost her. He’s barely even had her recently, unwittingly by his own volition.

“Lydia,” he says again, roughly, working it out around his emotion-constricted throat.

“I want you to be thinking of something else, though,” she just keeps going. “So I have to tell you. I know you don’t feel the way you used to, I’m too late, you’re over me and you have Malia now. And you’re happy so I’m happy for you. But even if it’s selfish of me to do this, I can’t die without telling you how I feel.”

His fingers curl and uncurl at his sides spasmodically. For once Stiles Stilinski is unable to utter a single word.

“I love you, Stiles,” she whispers. “I’m completely in love with you and I’m too late and you have no idea how sorry I am. I was so blind for so long to what was there right in front of me and I’ll regret it forever. At least maybe soon I’ll have Allison to tell me it’s okay. I know you’ll keep going, you’ll be fine and you’ll live and be happy. Just remember me, and that I loved you, more than anything.” The last part comes out as barely more than a breath, as she turns away from him and walks calmly out the door.

It takes a minute before the cement in his shoes dissolves and he bolts after her.

Stiles practically falls down the stairs in his haste and he skids into the entryway, flinging open the front door and swearing colorfully. Her car is gone. How did she get out of there so fast? He whips his phone out of his pocket and dials Scott.

“Hey,” is all he manages to get out before Stiles is talking over him a mile a minute. (And where had those speedy words been five minutes ago?)

“She was here she was talking about how she’s going to die and she said she loves me Scott but she said it because they’re gonna kill her oh my god Scott she’s got a twenty million dollar bounty on her head and we’ve been leaving her alone all the time and she said she loves me and they’ll kill her and she left and her car is already gone and I don’t know where she went you have to help me Scott.” He pants into the phone, already putting his keys in the ignition and roaring the jeep to life.

“Stiles, I – _what_?” Scott sounds confused, which is understandable, but Stiles has no time for that now. “Who are you – _Lydia_?”

“Yes, _Lydia_. She came over here and she was saying all this shit about how she’s going to die soon and it’s sort of a banshee thing she wasn’t clear but it’s also just _logic_. And I don’t know what was wrong with me, I could barely put two words together, and she was going on about how she wants me to be happy, but then she said she _loves_ me, Scott, she said she loves me more than anything, and then she just left!” Stiles’ eyes are filling with tears that he blinks away furiously because he needs to focus on the road and because he has no right to cry. It was him who left Lydia all alone, allowed her to be distanced from the pack and be so vulnerable on her own. He doesn’t deserve to be loved by her after everything, but _if she does – and she dies_ – he makes a choking sound. If Lydia gets killed, he’ll never recover.

“Stiles,” Scott says in his “alpha” voice, the one that brooks no argument. Stiles isn’t a wolf and isn’t beholden to his power, but he listens anyway because in this situation Scott is probably going to be thinking more clearly. Stiles isn’t really thinking at all, it’s just a litany of _Lydia Lydia Lydia my fault my fault my fault no no no_. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know, I know she won’t answer if I call her phone, I already passed her house and her car wasn’t in the driveway and -,” Stiles took a deep breath with difficulty. “The lake house, maybe she went to the lake house? But oh crap it’s half an hour away and she was right she can’t protect herself and she’s alone and isolated out there what if they get to her before I do and - !”

“STILES!” Scott says loudly, his voice powerful enough to make him stop babbling. “Are you at my house yet?” His best friend knows him so well.

“Just stopped in front,” Stiles manages to get that out. The line goes dead, and he sees Scott jump out his window and he’s barely landed smoothly on the ground before he’s hopping into the passenger seat.

“Go, Stiles, go! I’ll call the others!” He obeys, stomping on the gas and trying to keep breathing. If he has a panic attack now there’s no Lydia to kiss him out of it. Oh god, how could he not have seen the way her feelings were changing, had changed? Even back then, the way she looked at him – stars were sparkling in her eyes and her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink. _When I kissed you, you held your breath_. Her face at that moment, so close to his, is seared onto his brain forever. He needs to stay calm now, or at least not get any more freaked out.

Scott’s next words (spoken to him as opposed to the rest of the pack on the phone) help that a bit. “Did she say anything that made you think they’d come for her soon? It was a banshee feeling? How powerful?”

Shaking his head rapidly, Stiles answers, “She didn’t really explain that part, I don’t think it was a very strong feeling. But she also said it was a miracle they hadn’t gotten her already, and she’s _right_ , Scott, she’s _right_! She’s worth more than everyone but you, but she can’t fight like you, or Kira or Liam or Malia or even Derek anymore. They could have killed her twelve times over by now and we’d have no one to blame but ourselves.”

“Hey!” Scott rebuked him. “Don’t think like that! The only people at fault would be the assassins and the Benefactor.”

“Have you met me, Scott? I can’t think any other way!” He swallows. “She’s, she’s my – she’s _my Lydia_ , and I’ve practically abandoned her for months.” Stiles squeezes the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. “And she never said a word. She’s been left all alone and I just know she’s still been mourning, and killing herself trying to make her banshee powers work with no idea how because she’s never known – and I just forgot about her!"

His heartbeat is thundering in his ears almost deafeningly and he can barely breathe. Scott reaches over and squeezes his shoulder tightly. “You’ve been going through a lot of your own stuff,” he says lowly. “After the Nogitsune –.”

“And who was there to help me with the Nogitsune?” Stiles demands. “Lydia spent that last night not only _physically supporting me_ , but if she weren’t there for me to cling to in, in my _heart_ – I don’t think I would have made it! I would have just lain down and let the bastard take me.” Scott looks stricken at this, but he just continues, “And after that, for like two weeks she barely left me for a second. She’d just – she’d just lost her best friend, and Aiden, and she was there comforting _me_! And then what do I do? I turn around and abandon her.”

“She couldn’t have really been that badly off,” Scott murmurs, a clear strain of his own guilt evident in his voice.

Stiles shook his head. “I know her, Scott, better than anybody, even after all that’s happened. Her banshee powers make her feel like she’s going crazy, and they frustrate her to no end, and – and I know this sounds really conceited, but the only person who can help her with them is me! And I just left her in the lurch. And she must have been under so much pressure lately, trying to figure out the deadpool and help us, her friends who forgot she exists!” He makes a desperate little sound, and drives even faster, at least twenty-five miles above the speed limit. It probably won’t even matter, he’s following the GPS directions to the lakehouse which are never the quickest way, and Lydia would know how to get to her own house as efficiently as possible. They’ll be too late. He’ll be too late.

“We’re supposed to be her pack, dude, she needs us. Lydia doesn’t have anyone else anymore, Scott! Even Danny’s left town, she must have been so alone - .” His voice chokes off, unable to say anything more. They’re nearly to the lake house now, but it can’t come fast enough for Stiles.

The alpha is still trying to make him – make both of them, probably – feel better. He’s doing kind of a shitty job, but under the circumstances Stiles can’t blame him. “You’ve been busy with Malia,” he attempts.

Stiles actually snorts. “What the fuck is Malia to me? A girl we found running around the woods as a wild animal, and then I made out with her in a mental hospital when I thought I was going to die. I’ve known her for less than three months, and she can barely act like a person sometimes. I’ve just been – so desperate to do something good, I got caught up trying to help her adapt, and somewhere along the way that turned into kissing her and kind of dating, I don’t even fucking know, Scott. I’ve been in love with Lydia since we were eight years old. I realized a while ago that for most of that time it was just a really huge crush, infatuation, but then after you got bitten and all this _bullshit_ happened, I really got to know her. And I fell in love with her, man, I had no idea I could feel so much more for Lydia, but I do.” His palms are sweating, sliding along the steering wheel. He grips it harder, and if he were a werewolf it might snap off in his hands. “I told her – she fucking quoted it to me today before she left, some of it – last year, I told her if she died I’d lose my damn mind. I was so stupid.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asks uncertainly. He is worried about their friend, and feels terrible for leaving her so adrift, but this guilt and panic consuming his best friend is foreign to him. The closest he’s come is Allis – and even then, she could defend herself very well. It was never like this.

“I thought I loved her back then, that I’d go crazy if I lost her, but I hadn’t felt _anything_.” Stiles breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. When they get to Lydia, she can kiss his struggling lungs all better. “Scott, if she gets killed, forget losing my mind, I think she might just take me with her. I _need_ her,” he begs his friend, though what he’s asking for he hasn’t a clue. “And she needs me, and I forgot about that, and now I hate myself even more than I already did.”

“Lydia would _never_ want you to feel that way, Stiles,” Scott tells him firmly. “She said she wants you to be happy, right?”

Stiles nods jerkily. “But she was talking about me and Malia and she said she’s happy for me, but she meant after she – after she was _dead_! Doesn’t Lydia know that if she dies I’ll probably never even be _okay_ again?”

“I guess not,” his friend murmurs. “When was the last time you told her? I mean – told her how you feel about her, even as a friend?”

“I don’t know!” Stiles bonks his head against the steering wheel. “We haven’t really _talked_ in ages, since before the Nogitsune, and even then it was about her and her banshee powers – I told her I had faith in her and that even though we never found Barrow at school – it was that night – I’d go back and look all night until we did if she wanted me to. But I don’t think…” He trails off. “That was so long ago, and, and, I haven’t actually told her about my feelings since last year. I _love_ her, Scott, and I’ve never actually even told her that! I always just thought it was so obvious,” he mumbles the last part. “I know, I _know_ that I’ve been caught up with Malia and not paying much attention to her, I didn’t really realize that until today but I do now. It just never occurred to me that she could ever think I was over her! I had a fucking _ten year plan_ , Scott! You don’t get over that, you just don’t.”

“But like, you never actually _told_ her about it, did you?”

“No,” he admits. “But like I said, I always thought it was just obvious that I’m completely crazy about her. Always have been and I still am.”

“Well,” Scott says resolutely, “we’ll be there in a couple of minutes, and you can tell her that yourself.”

“Right.” They speed down the final stretch of wooded road leading to the Martins’ lake house and Stiles stops the jeep abruptly as soon as they were in the driveway next to Lydia’s car, and both of them scramble out of the car.

Scott sniffs the air and Stiles feels all his insides drop onto the pavement. “There’s someone here,” the alpha says darkly. “And I don’t know them.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Is Lydia…?” Stiles twists his hands together, twitching involuntarily in the direction of the house.

“She’s here,” Scott confirms. “I don’t smell any blood,  but there’s fear… We don’t have time to wait for the others.”

“Of course we don’t!” Stiles snaps. “If I weren’t a squishy human I’d be ransacking the house by now and it’s a miracle I have that much self-control!”

“It’s good that you do,” Scott promises him, moving towards the door, already in a fighting posture. “Maybe we can catch the assassin by surprise.”

The door is unlocked, chilling his insides, and then they’re inside, approaching the stairs in the entryway, when they hear the banging. It’s the sound of someone trying to break down a door. Stiles shoves Scott forward. “Go! Go!” They both go thundering up the stairs, Scott’s eyes ablaze and claws out. Stiles wishes fervently that he at least had his baseball bat.

And now he has even more reason to be furious with himself for letting Lydia be out here alone all the time, because if he had been with her, he would know this enormous house better. As it is, they are using Scott’s super-senses to locate the danger.

The werewolf of course pulls ahead of Stiles, who is barely keeping up enough to follow where Scott ran. His desperation to save Lydia keeps him running, though. He turns a corner finally and sees Scott tackling an almost cartoonish-looking guy dressed all in black (a formidably huge one, the mere idea of whom getting anywhere near Lydia just about makes Stiles sick to his stomach) to the ground, away from the odd-looking door he’d clearly been trying to break down.

Scott punches the assassin, hard enough to knock him out, with a crunching noise, and shoves his unconscious body into the corner. “Get Lydia.”

Stiles doesn’t need to be told. He is already knocking, gently, on the door. “Lydia?” he calls. “It’s us. Me and Scott. He took out the assassin. You can come out now, I promise it’s safe.”

No answer.

“Lydia?” he begs. “Open up, please. I’m going crazy worried out here, I just need to know you’re alright. _Please_ , Lyds.”

Both of his clenched fists press against the door, and he leans his forehead against it. “Please,” Stiles mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t know how long he stands like that before there is a clatter coming from back down the hall, the sound of several pairs of feet running up the stairs. Stiles whips his head around, expecting more killers, but Scott comes up behind him and rests a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the pack,” he murmurs.

Sure enough, Kira, Derek and Braeden, Liam and even Malia soon appear, ready to fight.

“What’s going on?” Kira asks – she has a white-knuckled grip on her katana. “Did you get him? Is Lydia okay?”

Scott jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the unconscious assassin. Derek and Braeden go over to check him out, Liam hovers beside Scott, and Kira joins Stiles at the door. He is once again leaning against it miserably, pleading with Lydia to come out. Malia just stands with her arms crossed and a sour look on her face.

“Stiles, I don’t think she can hear you,” Kira says uncertainly.

“What?” He stares at the kitsune. “What do you mean, she can’t hear me?”

“I think this is the banshee room,” she whispers. “It’s completely soundproofed.”

“ _Banshee room_?” Stiles splutters. “Soundproofed? Why haven’t I heard about this?”

Kira shrugs. “We were here with Lydia once, when she was trying to hear something on this old record player. Everything was white, the walls, the carpet, and the record player was all there was in there.” She shoots Malia a look of disapproval. “I thought you’d been told.”

The werecoyote shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d care. So Lydia’s grandma had some kind of crazy room right out of Eichen House, what does it matter?”

“What does it _matter_?” he snaps at her. “Well, aside from the obvious -.” He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “You should have told me, okay. So she can’t hear me? Would she have been able to hear the guy banging down the door?”

“Probably?” Kira offers hopefully. “Or maybe try her cell phone?”

Stiles presses the heels of his hands against both eyes. He’s having trouble breathing again, which Scott notices. “Hey, calm down, bro,” the alpha tells him gently. “Lydia’s safe, even if she can’t hear us.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles retorts. “Somebody could be in there with her! What if all that white carpeting is covered in her blood right now?” He tugs on his hair, pacing back and forth a couple of feet.

“We could probably smell it?” Malia suggests. “I mean, blood’s a pretty strong smell. Especially fresh and a lot of it. And even though Lydia’s so small she’s got plenty of blood in her.”

Stiles glares at her rather viciously. “Can you please not, Malia? For once actually remember everything I’ve told you about being a decent person.”

She colors slightly, and leans against the wall. “Sorry,” she mutters.

Derek returns from making certain of the assassin now, rolling his eyes. “Just because a human killer couldn’t break that door down doesn’t mean it’ll stop you, Scott. If we’re so worried about Lydia, just…” He gestures at the door. Stiles and Kira back up out of the way, the former shooting his best friend a pleading look.

The werewolf nods, his brows drawn together, and without any other preamble bodily throws himself at the door.

It comes down like measly plywood, the crunching noise accompanied by a piercing shriek. A familiar one.

Stiles scrambles over Scott and the shards of the door, heading straight for the semi-hysterical banshee pressed into the far corner on the floor. He drops to his knees right beside her. “Lydia, Lydia,” he murmurs. “It’s okay, we got rid of him. You’re safe now.”

She blinks her puffy, watering eyes at him. “H-How did you know I was here?” she warbles, curling further into herself.

He shrugs. “I – does that really matter?” he asks imploringly. “I’ve been going out of my mind since you left my house, Lyds.”

Lydia looks away from him, with difficulty since her face is almost pressed against the white wall. “Sorry,” she mutters a little bitterly. “I shouldn’t have done that to you – it was reckless and unkind of me. I just had a bad feeling, but that was no reason to dump everything on you like that. My horrible timing isn’t your problem.”

Stiles stares at her. “What are you talking about?” He shakes his head a little frantically. “Lydia, can you just – just –!”

“Just what?” Her eyes, the green vivid even when they were so bloodshot, bore into his.

He can’t even answer, just reaches out and pulls her into his arms, hugging her tightly. The banshee stiffens for a second, but then melts against him. “Stiles,” she says weakly. Her small hands come up and fist in his plaid shirt. “ _Stiles_.”

“It’s alright,” he mumbles into her hair. “I’m here. And I’m never going away again, you hear me? Never.”

“Okay.” Lydia barely chokes that out before she dissolves into sobs. Stiles only holds her closer, rubbing gentle circles on her back and murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear. Feeling her safe in his arms is one of the most intensely relieving things he’s ever experienced. His eyes slip shut, and he buries his face in her hair. “Lydia,” he breathes.

The two of them sit there on the carpet, clinging to one another, for several minutes before there is finally a loud throat-clearing from the broken doorway. And even then, Stiles places a protective hand on the back of Lydia’s head, keeping her face hidden against his shoulder as he looks up and scowls at a bemused Derek. “What?” he snaps.

“Malia went outside,” the smirking wolf replies. “She’s waiting by the car. We should probably all get going. Scott already called your dad to come collect the assassin.”

Stiles feels a teeny tiny throb of guilt in the back of his mind when he thinks of Malia seeing him here holding Lydia like this, so concerned for her. It has to be obvious how he really feels about the banshee as opposed to Malia. “Okay,” he answers shortly. “Can you drive Lydia’s car back?” He looks down at the girl in his arms then, and she just detaches one hand from its vice-grip on his shirt and hands her keys to Derek without moving her face away from the comfort of Stiles’ shoulder. “There’s no way I’m letting you go any time soon,” he whispers.

Lydia wraps her arms more firmly around him. “Good,” she answers softly.

“We do have to leave, though,” he murmurs. “Unless you feel like being detained by the police. My dad should be able to smooth things over, but…”

She shook her head, and with obvious reluctance disentangles herself from him and gets to her feet. Stiles joins her immediately, wrapping his arm firmly around her shoulders. “You good? I could carry you,” he offers.

The banshee rolls her eyes, and Stiles actually breathes a sigh of relief at this sign of her return to normalcy. “I can walk, Stiles. I’m freaked out, not crippled.” She leans against him heavily anyway as they leave her house and walk to the Jeep. Stiles tosses his keys to Scott, who catches them deftly – freaking werewolf reflexes – but gives him a confused look.

“You drive,” Stiles tells him. “I’m sitting with Lyds in the back.”

Lydia herself also looks at him oddly at that, but there’s a small smile peeking around the corners of her mouth, comforting him slightly again. She clambers into the jeep with Stiles following, the two of them both maintaining a firm grip on each other. He is surprised and rather unnerved when the passenger side opens and Malia climbs into the seat. Scott’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror and they communicate their mutual _oh crap_.

Stiles can see from this angle that the werecoyote’s jaw is tightly clenched and she has her arms folded across her chest again. But his eyes are inexorably drawn back down to Lydia, whose head is resting on his shoulder and her arm wrapped tightly around his torso. He gently rubs her shoulder and she sighs.

“Can you take me to your house?” she asks Stiles, her eyes darting to Scott the driver. “My mom isn’t home… and I… I don’t want to be alone.” She whispers the last part, averting her eyes from his.

“Of course.” Stiles hugs her closer. She’s been on her own for much of the past few months, and he’s still kicking himself for unwittingly abandoning her. “I would have stayed with you at your house anyway.”

Malia’s fingers tap a staccato beat on the armrest. Honestly, Stiles is impressed with her for keeping quiet. Normally she would be blurting out her thoughts in probably the most blunt and insensitive way possible.

Otherwise the rest of the drive back to Beacon Hills is quiet, very different from the frantic and  rather one-sided conversation held between the two boys on the way over. Lydia’s eyes are closed, her body sunken deep into his. Stiles can’t resist letting his own eyes shut and his cheek rest on top of her beautiful hair. Images of the strawberry blonde tresses soaked in blood had been among those plaguing his mind as they made their mad dash to rescue her. But she’s fine. She’s safe, and in his arms, and he swears on everything holy that this will always be the case from now on. Stiles’ eyes flicker open and for a fraction of a second meet the werecoyote’s. Even though that means he has to have a very unpleasant conversation.

Finally Scott pulls the Jeep into the Stilinski driveway, looking over his shoulder at his friends climbing out of the backseat. “You call me if anyone comes after you again. Just scream, Lydia,” he tells her sincerely. “I’ll hear it.”

“We’ll _all_ hear it,” Malia grumbles. “And get our ears blasted out from miles away.”

Stiles grits his teeth. “Actually, Malia, can I talk to you really quick? Do you mind waiting, Scotty?” When he shakes his head, Stiles turns to the banshee and tells her gently, “You go on inside, I’ll be there in just a minute.”

She nods, looking a little worried, and he manages a small smile for her before she walks slowly into the house.

Malia hops out of the passenger seat and closes the door, leaning against her back against it. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest again and a scowl on her face. She knows what’s coming, that much is obvious.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts out. “I’ve basically been leading you on for three months, and that’s not fair at all. I should have been honest from the beginning.” He sighs. “I love Lydia.”

“I know,” Malia bit out. “I’ve had some, some suspicions, I guess, since the very beginning.” It’s her turn to sigh, and she softens slightly. “I should have realized.”

He shakes his head. “Not your fault. It’s mine. I wasn’t honest with myself, either. I knew I wasn’t over Lydia, but I thought I would be if I pretended hard enough. Turns out fake it ‘til you make it doesn’t always work.”

“I don’t know that saying,” Malia informs him, slightly annoyed.

“No matter how much I acted like I was over her, I wouldn’t be. I _won’t_ be, I know that now.” Stiles stuff his hands in his pockets. “Please don’t hate me.”

Biting her lip, she smiles slightly. “I don’t think I could ever _hate_ you, Stiles. I’m not your biggest fan right now, and I’ll need some time probably – don’t people usually need time?” At his nod, she continues. “But it’s for the best, for both of us. You don’t love me and to be honest I don’t love you, although _I’m_ not totally sold on somebody else already.”

Stiles smiles wryly. “We can’t all have my level of dedication.”

“No, we can’t.” Malia opens the car door and slides back into the passenger seat. Scott is still in the driver’s, studiously pretending to ignore their conversation. Their break-up. “Goodbye, Stiles.” She squints at him suddenly. “You’ll still help me with math, right?”

He laughs. “Right.”

Stiles doesn’t watch them drive away. He hurries inside to Lydia.

The banshee has already gone upstairs to his room and curled up on his bed, facing the wall. He only hesitates for a moment before going over and lying down beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in against his chest. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Lydia Martin,” he murmurs.

“Sorry,” she whispers back.

“I mean,” he grins into the back of her neck, “I didn’t even get a chance to say I love you, too.”

Lydia stills in his arms, barely seeming to breathe. “Oh.” He can feel her swallow hard. “What about Malia?”

“I broke up with her five minutes ago outside.”

She starts laughing. “Oh my god. Stiles Stilinski, you complete jerk.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But I’ve been a bigger jerk to you recently. I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you, Lyds,” he tells her softly. “It was just sheer dumb luck that something like today hadn’t happened already when we weren’t there to save you. And don’t start with anything about not needing to be saved, since you were going on yourself about being the most vulnerable.”

Lydia huffs quietly. “Fine. Thank you.”

“I wasn’t looking for thanks, Lydia. I was trying to apologize.”

“Right. Go on, then.”

“…I really am sorry.”

She sighs. “I’m not going to say it’s alright, because it’s not. But… I forgive you anyway.”

“Why?” Stiles won’t forgive himself any time soon.

Lydia abruptly twists around to face him. “Did you hear _anything_ I said earlier?” She shoves lightly at his chest. “I love you, dummy. So I forgive you.” Raising one eyebrow, she says, “You’ll still have to make up for it, of course.”

“Of course… How?” he asks a bit nervously.

The flash of bravado disappears. “By not leaving me all alone again,” she whispers.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “Oh, Lyds.” He pulls her in with a hand on the back of her neck and presses his lips to her forehead before hugging her tightly. “Never,” Stiles promises. “Though if an assassin comes,” he shudders, “ _I’m_ not going to be much use. But I guess a baseball bat is better than nothing.” Like what she had before.

“The threat of assassination wasn’t really what bothered me about being alone, you know,” Lydia mumbles.

He swallows hard. “Yeah. I know.”

“I… I missed you.”

And if Stiles stops and actually thinks about the past few months of his life… There was a gaping, Lydia-shaped hole in it that gnawed at him and all the beautiful werecoyotes in the world couldn’t make it go away. “I missed you too.”

“Really?” The doubt in her voice kills him. How could he have ever allowed Lydia Martin to doubt how important to him she is?

“Yeah.” He adds, “My GPA has dropped by at least four points.”

“Stiles!” She shoves at his chest again, but he made her giggle.

“What? I needed my study buddy!” He laughs with her, muffling it against her hair and holding her tighter.

“Malia wasn’t good enough?” she asks suddenly, voice hard and body stiff again.

“She wasn’t the same,” he says slowly. “And… no one but you will ever be ‘good enough’ for me.” It’s true. Stiles learned that a long time ago. He always ignored it, but sometimes he’d look at Malia and her hair was the wrong color and she was too tall and she wasn’t a genius and she wasn’t Lydia Martin and that would feel like a punch to the gut. “Malia isn’t you, Lyds.”

“You’re damn right,” she mutters. “I’m much better at math.”

“Among other things,” he agrees. “And I don’t think I could ever love a girl without strawberry blonde hair.”

Lydia scoffs but he can feel her smile. “So you’d run off with any redhead?”

“ _Strawberry blonde_ ,” he corrects her diligently. “No, because they probably wouldn’t also be a genius, or only like caramel popcorn, or able to successfully run for their lives in three-inch heels.”

“You sure know how to flatter a girl, Stilinski.”

“Well, I’ve got about three months to catch up on, don’t I? Better get a head start.”

Lydia pulls away a little to look him in the face and they just smile at each other for a while. He hasn’t seen her smile in so long, much less solicited it himself, and it feels almost physically relieving. Like seeing the sunrise after a long, dark night, if he feels like being corny about it. And let’s face it, he’ll always be corny about Lydia Martin.

“I love you,” he says softly.

She just kisses him.


End file.
